


amorphous

by catsvspatriarchy



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8305573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsvspatriarchy/pseuds/catsvspatriarchy
Summary: Kevin isn't sure if he has a boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello ghost friends,
> 
> i started writing this to make myself laugh and then i got Invested (what a perfect metaphor for my entire life).

"Oh," Kevin says. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize there was anyone else here."

He's in the office late, because he needed to check the address of his audition tomorrow, and his phone's been out of data for the last week and a half. It's _expensive_ living in New York, and every time he asks Abby about a raise she laughs like he's making a joke. He's not making a joke, but Abby often laughs at things Kevin says that he doesn't intend to be funny. It's weird, but then the Goat Busters are a pretty happy bunch. They laugh at a lot of things Kevin says.

He hasn't met this one before, though. He's smaller and greener than the others, and he's eating leftover fortune cookies that were on Holtzmann's desk, and getting crumbs everywhere, and looking guiltily at Kevin.

"Don't worry," Kevin tells him. "She won't mind. How long have you been working here? I'm Kevin, the receptionist."

"ARGHWRAAAAAWWWRAARRRR."

"I'm sorry," Kevin says. "I don't speak French. I was thinking about trying Duolingo but you know, I thought Spanish would be more useful? I'm thinking about moving to Los Angeles."

The green man stares at him.

"Of course I'd give them plenty of time to find a new receptionist," Kevin adds hastily. "There are a lot of people who'd like to work somewhere nice like this. They wouldn't have any trouble finding someone. But I'm only thinking about it right now." He taps his elbow with one finger. "If you know what I mean." 

"ARRRRWHRRRGRRR."

Kevin flinches. "I don't want to be rude, but that's a little loud for me. What do you do around here, anyway?" He approaches, holding out a hand to shake.

The green man backs away, even though he doesn't seem to have legs. Kevin's not sure how that works, but the man knocks over a garbage can in the process, spilling crumpled papers everywhere.

"Ah, custodial services," Kevin says. "I did that for a while. The hours are good. That explains why we haven't met before. Here, I'll help you," he starts scooping paper back into the garbage. When he's finished, he straightens up and looks at the green guy expectantly. "Are you going to take that out, or-?"

The green man stares at him.

"The dumpster's in the alley," Kevin adds helpfully, then pauses. "Or, wait, you don't have legs, right? Damn, I should have - I should have thought. Wait, I'll help." He picks up the can, slings it over one shoulder, and starts to walk downstairs with it. The green man floats alongside, watching him.

"Also," Kevin adds, after some thought. "I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have said 'you don't have legs' like that. That was insensitive of me. I mean, no-one knows you don't have legs better than you, right? I don't go around looking at people in wheelchairs saying 'hey, you're in a wheelchair' because they already know that and also sometimes when you tell the truth you might hurt people's feelings. So I try not to do that. Hurt people's feelings, I mean."

The green man cocks his head to the side. His eyes are such an interesting shade of yellow.

Kevin reaches the bottom of the stairs. "You're really easy to talk to, has anyone ever told you that?" He pushes the door open and steps out into the street, but the man doesn't follow. "Are you coming with, or-?"

The green man draws back into the darkness of the stairwell. 

"No legs, right," Kevin mutters to himself. "No problem!" he says, louder. "I'll empty this and leave it here. I can bring it back up when I come in tomorrow."

"WHHHGRGBLL."

"Yeah, I'll have to get a dictionary or something," Kevin says. "Your accent is really strong. I can hardly understand you. Anyway, nice meeting you." He waves goodbye and hears the door shut behind him.

* * *

"Translator app," Erin tells him at work the next morning. "They can translate what you say into French and what your friend says into English."

"Amazing," Kevin says, rapt.

"Your - friend - is French? Or Canadian and grumpy?"

"Canadian," Kevin repeats, turning the thought over in his mind. "Like Wolverine? Maybe, I guess. I didn't see claws."

"They don't usually-" Erin starts, and then stops. "Kevin, Wolverine is a fictional character."

Kevin waits, and when she doesn't say anything else, smiles brightly at her.

"You understand what that means, right?"

"Of course," Kevin says, a little offended. "Like Professor Dumbledore - ooh, and President Obama."

"Those aren't the same-" Erin says, and pinches the bridge of her nose. "This is probably a conversation for another day."

"Okay," Kevin says, happily. He likes talking to Erin, but if he's perfectly honest, explaining things to her can be kind of tiring. "Anyway, I don't think he's Canadian. Must be French."

" _He_?" Erin asks, and seems to brighten up. It's probably the coffee. She loves the coffee Kevin makes. "He's a man - a male? Your friend?"

"Of course," Kevin says, puzzled. "I don't really have girl friends. Unless you count my mum. And you guys, I guess." He waves around the room, even though the rest of the Glut Boosters haven't arrived yet. "If I can count you, of course," he adds hastily, remembering that it might not be polite to assume that people are your friends without asking them.

"Of course you can," says Erin, and knocks over her coffee. Luckily Kevin made it with a lot of coffee powder and only a little water, so they can just scrape it back into the cup. He does so, and then hands it back to Erin, good as new. 

"Here," he says.

"Well, thanks," Erin says. "From your _girl friend_." She goes to punch his shoulder, and Kevin moves into it at the last moment because he's been taking a self-defense class and moving with the hit is supposed to make it hurt less?

It doesn't work. Erin hits like a pro wrestler, and Kevin rubs his arm and backs away, smiling through her apology.

* * *

Kevin drops by the office late a few times over the next few days, but he doesn't see the green man again.

His data rolls over and he downloads a translation app as recommended by Erin. It translates whatever he says into what sounds like perfect French to him, and he's itching to try it out with his new friend.

Erin seems less convinced, and tells him the Spanish translation option is very inaccurate.

He gets in really early one morning, just after the sun comes up. He's yawning over his kale smoothie and ready to learn some lines for the play he's been cast in. He also has racquetball this morning, which he forgot to mention to Abby, but he knows she won't mind.

He hears the green man before he sees him - his chewing is pretty distinctive. Kevin drops his messenger bag at reception and walks around to the office, and there he is, eating potato chips at Holtzmann's desk.

"Morning," Kevin says.

The green man stares at him.

Kevin point to himself. "Kevin, remember? We met the other night? Oh, wait-" he remembers his phone app, and has to walk back to get it. When he returns, the green man's smashing a soda can against the desk and drinking the puddle that results.

"Wow, really working up a thirst, huh?" Kevin says. "Anyway, I got this app. It changes what you say into American! Or Australian, but you have to pay extra for that, and I'm kind of on a budget right now. Here, try it." He holds out the phone, and looks at the green man expectantly. 

Yellow eyes meet his. There's silence, other than the sound of soda dripping on the floor.

"You're not shy, are you? Don't be scared. Here, I'll show you." Kevin sits back against Erin's desk, holds the phone close to his mouth, and speaks loudly and slowly. "My name is Kevin."

There's a pause, and then the phone speaks. "Je m'appelle Kevin," it says.

"See?" Kevin says, and reads the written translation onscreen. "Jem apples Kevin. Pleased to meet you. Now you try."

"Awrhnhgrr," the green man says, hesitantly.

Kevin waits, then taps the phone and frowns. "It says it couldn't translate it. Try one more time."

"GGRBAVIERRRRRR," says the man, and floats over to Kevin, headbutting him in the face.

"Ow," says Kevin, reeling back. "Too close, dude."

"Slime," says the phone.

"Slime?" Kevin asks, wiping his face. "That's not a name." He shakes his hand, trying to dry it, then gives up and wipes it on his pants. "You're really sweaty, you must have been working hard."

"WGGGGGGRRRRRRRR," says the green man, flying at him again.

"All right, all right," says Kevin, and moves to the side. He hears something crumple on the desk, and realizes he was almost sitting in a pizza box. "Oh," he says. " _Oh_ , of course. Sorry, man. I mean Slime. Sorry, Slime." He picks up the box and holds it out.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR," says the green man, snatching it out of his hands and starting to stuff cold cheese pizza into his mouth.

"Slime _R_?" Kevin asks.

"RRRRRRRRR," says Slimer. 

"Ah, the French pronunciation," Kevin says knowledgeably. "Cool. You in tonight? I can bring sushi. We can make it a date."

"ARGWHARLLLLLLLLLL," says Slimer.

Kevin goes back to his desk, and unpacks his tea cup and tidies up his work station ready for the day. "Sorry if I was culturally offensive, by the way," he shouts back toward the office. "I don't meet many French people."

"Uh, me either," says Holtzmann, from right beside him, and Kevin nearly falls out of his chair.

"You scared me," he says, when his heart slows down a little.

"I see that," Holtzmann says, and walks through into the office. "ARGHHHHHH."

"Slimer?" Kevin says, and spins his chair so he can see.

Holtzmann's standing in the middle of the floor, looking at the pizza box and various crusts and crumbs all over the floor in front of Erin's desk. There's a trail of Pringles shards leading toward Holtzmann's desk, and Kevin follows her line of sight to see soda still dripping over the edge.

She looks back at Kevin.

He raises his shoulders hesitantly. "It - was like that when I got here?"

Holtzmann seems to consider for a moment, then shrugs. "Makes sense. Just between you and me, Erin is _such_ a slob."

* * *

It's a really long day, between the racquetball and having to answer the phone at least five times, and file some receipts for Abby. The filing doesn't take so long, but the 'R' section is really full when he's done, and he has to squash the drawer closed.

Kevin goes home in the afternoon and feeds Mike Hat. They haven't spent much time together since Kevin got his new job, but he does seem to get along great with Kevin's mother. Mike gets along great with everyone, actually. Kevin's sure he'd be nice to someone with a disability. They could bond.

He's whistling on his way back into the office late in the evening. He takes the stairs two by two and is delighted to see Slimer rummaging through Abby's desk drawers, throwing paper everywhere.

"Hi," Kevin says, waving. "I brought sushi."

He starts to lay it out carefully on the table in its little plastic tray, along with two bottles of water.

"I didn't know what you like to drink," he says. "And you should really start eating healthier. Eating snacks instead of proper meals isn't good for you. I did bring cookies for dessert th-"

Kevin stops. Slimer has his mouth wide open and is tossing vegetable rolls in there by the handful. Rice flies past Kevin's face.

"I'm glad you like it," Kevin says. "I wasn't sure."

"MRPHGGRRPHH," says Slimer, but muffled through a layer of seaweed and sliced carrot.

"My pleasure," says Kevin. "Hey, I don't know if you like movies?"

Slimer approaches him, and for a moment Kevin's not sure what's going on. Then Slimer grabs at Kevin's backpack, snatches it away from him and tears it open by the zipper. He pulls out the package of cookies and makes a triumphant _whargrbl_ noise.

"You know, I really think we're getting a connection," Kevin marvels. "We really understand each other, you know?"

"ARGHRARBLE," Slimer says. "BRGGGGGGKEVIN."

"Kevin?" says Kevin, and then: "Kevin! Oh, wow, you said my name! I understand French! Or you understand - um. I mean - I don't know what language we're speaking but this is amazing!"

"EVINNNNNNNNN," says Slimer, and tosses the package of cookies into his mouth without unwrapping them.

Kevin watches for a moment. "Uh, you should probably-" he gestures with one hand.

Slimer burps loudly, and spits the plastic packaging, now heavily slimed, onto the floor.

"Anyway," Kevin says. "I can't really stay. I've got a Solitaire tournament tonight and the guys are all counting on me. Think about a movie, okay? If you want? We could see anything you like."

"HNGRR," says Slimer, licking up grains of sushi rice from the floor.

"Keep up the good work," Kevin says lamely, and then, gathering his nerve, drops down to both knees and kisses the green man quickly on the cheek.

Slimer stares at him for a long moment. Then he opens his mouth wide enough that Kevin can see rice grains stuck to his teeth, and screams.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Kevin straightens up, wiping his mouth. He takes two steps backward in rapid succession, stumbles over his own feet and nearly falls. 

"Oh God," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please stop making that noise."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" says Slimer.

Kevin covers his eyes. "I'm just gonna go, okay? My eardrums are bursting, and I'm - just gonna go. I'm really sorry, again." He walks backward until he feels the stairwell rail against his back, then turns and walks down the stairs blindly. 

He hears: "AAAAAAAAA!" as he makes it to the street and closes and locks the door with shaking hands.

* * *

"I don't even know if he's gay," Kevin says miserably.

Erin's stirring the coffee he made her. She leans across the desk and pats his arm. "Oh Kevin, I'm sorry."

"Sweet Kevin," Holtzmann adds. "Maybe ask if he's into it first? For future reference?"

"It was an err of the proponent thing," he says.

Erin's mouth works, but no sound comes out. "Spur of the moment!" she says, after a minute.

"Yeah," Kevin agrees. "That's a good way to put it. Except wait, no one was wearing spurs. At any moment."

"Don't confuse the child, Erin," Holtzmann says, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder.

Kevin looks around, but he doesn't see a child. 

"Anyway," he says slowly. "I'm pretty sure I ruined everything."

Erin pats his hand again. "Maybe - maybe it could still work out? If you talk to him?"

Holtzmann rolls her eyes. "Erin, you hopeless romantic. Take it from me, when a relationship starts with gay panic, it can only go downhill from there. I mean, I'm not saying the sex won't be great because the sex can be-" she catches Erin's eye and stops talking. 

"Relationship?" repeats Kevin, with an edge of panic. "I don't think I'm ready for a relationship."

Holtzmann winks. "Tell it to your French dude, not me."

"I'll try," Kevin says, thoughtfully.

"Good job," says Holtzmann, and moves around the desk to slap him on the back. "Anyway, we have to get to work."

"Oh yeah," Kevin says. "We've got a report of a coast causing trouble. It's at the La Fortuna restaurant on West 68th."

Erin stands up. "That's Spanish for-"

"Erin, don't do it," Holtzmann says, and putting a hand on her back, guides her back to the office to get their gear. 

Kevin hears her say, “Do what?” from his desk.

* * *

Kevin stays late at work that night, but Slimer doesn't show up. Or the next night. Or the next.

"Maybe we could call him?" he asks Abby. "This place is getting kind of messy."

Abby's tapping away at something on her laptop. She mutters, "There's got to be a - a statute, or something, right? You can't just pretend to arrest private citizens."

"Statue?" Kevin frowns. "There's some in the park, but Abby, they can't arrest people. They're unanimous objects."

Abby stops typing and looks up at him. She holds up a finger. "Okay, one, I have no idea what you're talking about and b, I didn't get the first thing either."

"The custodian!" Kevin tells her, frustrated. "What about the custodian?"

Abby looks thoughtful, then shakes her head. "Nope, still not making any sense. Are you sure you didn't mean to ask Erin? This sounds like an Erin question. Or Patty, maybe."

"Never mind," Kevin sighs, and goes back to his desk. Maybe he should check Facebook for Slimers? Of course, there's probably thousands of French guys with that name and how will he know which one is _his_?

"Not Holtzmann," Abby's still talking. "Don't ask Holtzmann weird questions, it only encourages her."

"Ask me what?" Holtzmann says, spinning around in her chair.

"Kevin needs a janitor," Abby says, looking back at her laptop screen. 

"Okay," says Holtzmann. "I'm just spitballing here, but - temp agency? You know," she glances at Abby, "the kind of place you should call when you need a receptionist who has experience holding a phone the right way around?"

"Of course," Kevin says, brightening. The temp agency that Slimer worked for would have his phone number. Only - "But there are a lot of them, right? How will I know which one?"

Holtzmann laughs, but Kevin doesn't know why. "Search your heart, Kev," she says. "The right one will speak to you."

* * *

Kevin spends a couple hours on YellowPages.com, but none of the temp agencies listed say anything to him. Not a word. Dispirited, he stays late after the rest of the Officers of the Metathingys leave, and skips his interpretive dance class to scroll through casting calls.

He can't keep his mind on the roles, though. He could definitely play a businessman whose suit gets dirty and who has to strip off to wash it in Gold Star Laundry Powder, but for some reason he's just not feeling it tonight. Instead of a salad or the long walk to the good sushi place, he picks up a hot dog at the corner near the park and walks back to the office with it.

He plans to eat at his desk and head home when the subway's evening rush has died down a little. But when he walks back upstairs, there's something swooping around the office and it takes him a minute to recognize it as Slimer, and then Slimer's headbutting him in the chest.

"Oof," says Kevin, and sits down on one of the waiting room chairs. For a little guy with some physical disabilities, Slimer hits hard.

Kevin starts getting his breath back, and then Slimer's in front of him again. "Wait," Kevin says, holding up a hand to stave off further headbutts. 

"AWWWWWRGHEVINN," says Slimer. 

"Aw," says Kevin. "You remembered my name!"

"GRFRAGGHHHH," says Slimer, and starts approaching again. 

"Here," Kevin says, and holds up his hot dog as if in supplication. "You can have this. No more headbutting, please. I'm not into it."

Slimer pauses in his run up. "AWRGH?" he asks, but then before waiting for a reply, grabs the hot dog out of Kevin's hand and bolts downstairs to the street. Kevin can hear him munching as he goes.

Kevin sits in silence for a moment. "I feel like that went well," he tells himself finally. "We're definitely getting closer."

* * *

"Communication's still a bit of an issue," he's telling Patty as they climb the stairs to work the next day. 

"I hear that," Patty says.

"I mean, I think this means he's not weirded out by what happened. But I still don't know if he's gay. Or single. Or interested."

Patty looks at him closely. "You're really into this guy?"

"I think so," Kevin says. "I feel things when he's around."

"Okay, please don't get more specific," Patty says.

"No," Kevin says. "It's hard to talk about feelings, I know. They're so – shapeless. But I definitely feel things. My ears popped. I get all sweaty, too. Last night when I got home my shirt was soaked. It was a weird kind of sweat, too, all green and slimy. But I heard sometimes your body reacts differently when you're with someone you really care about."

"Kevin," Patty says, and lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not sure if I should recommend a doctor or a sex-ed teacher."

“Nah, I don't need those,” Kevin tells her, and smiles. He walks over to his desk, and Patty goes into the office.

“Oh,” he says, after a moment. “Oh, wow.”

Patty walks back through to reception and gives him an inquisitive look. He points at his desk.

The laptop's closed and the phone's hung up, like he left it last night. Those are the only things on the desk untouched though; his tea mug is upended on the floor, his pencils are scattered everywhere, and the printed papers Abby gave him with step-by-step instructions for answering the phone are covered in something gooey and green.

That's not all, though. In front of the laptop, close to the chair where Kevin sits, there are two long-stemmed purple flowers, slightly chewed-looking but obviously carefully arranged.

“Oh my God,” says Patty.

“I know, right?”

“We have to call the cops.”

“What?” says Kevin. “Why? What happened?”

“Look at your desk! Someone broke in here and trashed it! Also, I don't know what that smell is, but I do not like it.”

“No!” says Kevin. “No, look. It's from my friend. My – I don't know.”

“Your boyfriend left you those nasty-ass flowers?” Patty wrinkled her nose. “And I don't even know what these other pieces of things are. Maybe it was food once.”

Kevin leans in to look closer. “It's chewed-up pieces of hot dog bun. Aww, that's so romantic! It's one of our things.”

“Chewed up and spat out bread is romantic to you?” Patty asks.

“Well, if you put it like that, it sounds weird,” Kevin says. “But you don't understand. He loves food so much, but he's prepared to share it with me. He even chewed it first. I wasn't sure how he felt. But I'm pretty sure this is a sign.”

“It's a sign? It's an unhygienic and disgusting sign,” says Patty. “The _smell_ , dude.”

“People probably said that about Romeo and Juliet,” Kevin says, and picking up his flowers to admire them, smiles to himself.


End file.
